


Fake 'em Out

by alsointogiraffe



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: (kind of), Angst, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-09
Updated: 2017-08-09
Packaged: 2018-12-13 03:13:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11750883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alsointogiraffe/pseuds/alsointogiraffe
Summary: “And so what is he thinking? That you just hire a permanent girlfriend? Create an OKCupid account? ‘Thirty-four year old bass player desperately seeks wholesome make-believe girlfriend to provide stable environment for four-year-old son in order to ward off Child Protective Services’?"Pete has something - or, rather, someone- different in mind. Fake relationship AU.





	Fake 'em Out

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote most of this back in 2014 when [starsandsands](https://archiveofourown.org/users/starsandsands/pseuds/starsandsands) asked for a fluffy fake relationship Peterick fic. And then, ever the procrastinator, I never finished it. Until now! Because of its age, this is a pre-Saint fic. After editing/revising/finishing it this year, I made the decision to change the names of Pete’s IRL partners (past and present) - I hate that I ever besmirched their names in the first place as I’m sure they’re lovely people. So forgive what are perhaps thinly-veiled references to these individuals. Also, since this fic is truly some hardcore self-indulgent fluff/angst, it’s not meant to be all that realistic per se. In other words, you’ll have to suspend your disbelief re: how things like law (and Child Protective Services) (and maybe even fake relationships) function in the real world. 
> 
> Minor CW for a couple brief references to drug use. Title is a play on 21p’s “Fake You Out.”
> 
> Anyway, SORRY THIS IS SO LATE, [STARSANDSANDS](https://archiveofourown.org/users/starsandsands/pseuds/starsandsands). You’ve long moved on from bandom but hopefully you enjoy this anyway! ♥

It’s too early. Patrick knows this much as he wakes groggily to the sound of his phone vibrating on his nightstand. The sky is a soft, blurry shade of gray, just starting to get light out. His best guess is that it’s around 5, which means only one thing: Pete. Patrick reaches for his phone and it nearly falls off the nightstand once or twice before he’s squinting at the bright screen and noting that he’s got seven missed calls, all from Pete. He’s got two texts which say _hey pick up stop sleeping_ and _please_. If it weren’t common for Pete to call at late hours – happy about new song lyrics or the sunrise, sad because he misses everything from home-cooked meals to Patrick himself – Patrick would perhaps be more concerned. He clears the notifications from his phone and waits, knowingly, for it to start ringing again.

Sure enough, about three or so minutes later, his phone begins to vibrate. He answers, mumbling, “‘lo?” He sounds half-asleep and hopes, a bit selfishly, that Pete will feel bad, change his mind, and hang up.

“Patrick, fuck.” That’s all Pete says, his voice tired and strained like he’s been trying not to cry for a while now.

“What’s wrong?”

“Rachel.” Suddenly it clicks; Patrick begins to piece together the months of unresolved tension, the text messages he’s watched Pete send with pursed lips, the recent stage banter about conflict, confusion, trust, and learning to let go of the roses in your life, which are alluring and beautiful, but have dangerous thorns that doubtlessly end up hurting you. All of a sudden everything makes sense.

Patrick sighs, puts on his glasses, and gets out of bed, stumbling to turn on the light before searching for a pair of pants and a shirt to throw on.

“I’m on my way,” he says.

: :

It doesn’t take long for Patrick to get to Pete’s. The ride over has transformed into muscle memory over the years, autopilot. He stops only at red lights and the Starbucks down the street from Pete’s apartment for a quadruple venti skinny vanilla latte to get him through what is undoubtedly going to be a long morning. He pulls into the driveway and shoots Pete a text announcing his arrival and telling him to come to the door – Bronx is a light sleeper and Patrick doesn’t want to wake up him with knocking or doorbells like he’s done in the past. It only takes a minute for Pete to greet him, ushering him in and quietly shutting the door behind him.

Patrick evaluates the situation carefully: heavy bags under Pete’s bloodshot eyes mean he’s been up all night. His laptop is set up in the living room with his phone hooked up to it charging – besides calling him relentlessly, Patrick can only imagine Pete has spent a lot of time on the phone with Rachel, or texting her, or both. The TV is on, displaying an oddball infomercial which was probably the background noise that Pete tried to use to lull himself to sleep before calling Patrick in drowsy desperation.

Patrick knows better than to force Pete to talk, at least not at first. Instead of pressing, he takes a long sip of his coffee, and, seeing Pete’s eyes light up, hands it over to him. He takes a gulp out of it and says, “Skim milk? Gross,” but takes another gulp or two before handing it back to Patrick with a mumbled, “Thanks.” Patrick nods in response, taking one more drink himself before he grabs Pete’s arm and guides him toward the kitchen. He sits him down at the kitchen island, sets the coffee down where they both can reach it, and begins digging around the kitchen cabinets for ingredients to make waffles, figuring he can whip up a batch for Bronx before he has to be to school.

Pete folds his arms on the table, rests his head on them, and watches Patrick maneuver with ease around the kitchen. He knows by now where everything is and tries to help Pete keep stocked up on “the essentials,” something for which he and Pete have different definitions. Pete is adamant that chicken nuggets and frosted flakes qualify, but keeps milk and eggs and flour around to satisfy Patrick.

“Feel like talking?” Patrick asks, carefully cracking eggs into a bowl. He realizes that the mixer might wake Bronx up, but looks at the clock and figures he’s going to have to be up soon anyway.  

“In a bit,” Pete says. “After Bronx is off to school, maybe.”

“Okay.” Patrick tries to sound reassuring, knowing that sometimes the only thing Pete needs is company; Patrick has always been that sort of security blanket, the one go-to constant of his life. He keeps quiet after that, mixing the waffle batter, pulling out the waffle iron, waiting for it to heat up, and giving Pete the first two waffles. Soon after he starts heating up the third, he hears Bronx's footsteps padding along the hallway and into the kitchen. He's still in his pajamas, rubbing his eyes, looking tired the same way Pete does in the morning – neither of them are early birds.

His eyes light up when he sees Patrick. He waves and groggily exclaims, "Waffles!" before climbing on the stool next to Pete. He insists on having a bite of one of Pete's waffles while waiting for his to cook, grabby the same way Pete gets when he sees something he wants. When Bronx's waffle is ready, Patrick makes sure to grab some whipped cream from the fridge and add a happy face to it before sprinkling on a few extra chocolate chips.

"Ha!" Bronx says, grinning and making a show out of the fact that Pete doesn't have any whipped cream on his. Pete rolls his eyes and grabs the can of whipped cream, adding a mountain of it to what's left of his waffle.

"Ha," he replies, chuckling tiredly. He helps Bronx with the syrup and cuts his waffle into pieces while Patrick adds more batter to the waffle iron.

"Sleep well, kiddo?" he asks, looking up as Bronx nods.

"Daddy was up late," he says. Mouth full, he adds, "Way past bedtime."

"Yeah?" Patrick says. Bronx nods again. Patrick _mmm_ s quietly before he says, "Some nights we just can't sleep." He looks at Pete and adds, "Someone's gonna need a nap today, yeah?"

Pete rolls his eyes again and takes another bite of his waffles, shrugging. He says, mouth full, "Maybe, yeah." It's clear that he's trying hard to act like nothing's wrong, for Bronx's sake and perhaps for his own sake, too. Bronx finishes eating his waffle and half of one more, telling Patrick about the art project he's working on at school. He talks with his mouth full the same way Pete does and the two of them sitting next to each other, acting so alike, makes Patrick want to chuckle. Instead, he listens to Bronx attentively. When Bronx is done eating, Pete follows him to his room to help him pick out an outfit for school. Patrick cleans up breakfast and stores the leftovers before sitting down and having a waffle himself.

He thinks, knowing Pete as well as he does, that he should've been able to determine by now what happened between him and Rachel that caused them, he assumes, to split. Even his best conjectures seem implausible given how well the two of them seemed to get along. The recent tension to Patrick had seemed as out of place as the presumed split itself. He figures he'll have to wait to hear about it from Pete himself.

He goes with Pete to drop Bronx off at school and when they get back, Pete insists they take a nap first. He says, sounding sheepish, "Sorry I woke you up just to have you come over and go back to sleep.”

"No, no, it's fine," Patrick says. "Don't care where I'm sleeping as long as I'm asleep." Pete grabs his charged phone from his laptop while Patrick shuts off the TV. The two of them go back to Pete's room and Patrick notices that all of the little traces of Rachel that had littered the room are piled up in a corner of the dresser – her toothbrush, a shirt, several bobby pins, and a couple of sheets of paper with her handwriting on them. He shakes his head and follows Pete into bed.

After ten years, the two of them are used to sharing beds. It’s a paradoxical routine, consistently sporadic. They've dealt with their fair share of hotel screwups and what started as something awkward to Patrick turned indifferent and then oddly comforting in its familiarity. But today feels different. Getting into Pete’s bed, which he’s never actually slept in before, feels as awkward as when they’d first met. He can smell a hint of Rachel in the comforters and what used to feel so natural, so _normal_ , feels suddenly intimate. He feels a bit like an intruder, as though he were partaking in a bizarre act of platonic adultery. Momentarily, he debates volunteering to take the couch instead.  Before he has the chance, Pete shuffles around in bed before throwing an arm around Patrick's back. He nuzzles his head into his shoulder and mumbles, "Thanks."

Trying to shake away the strange feeling of guilt settling into his stomach, Patrick lets the familiar feeling of Pete's body heat distract him. He says, as casually as he can, "Yeah, dude, no problem."

: :

Three hours later and the two of them wake up. It takes them a few minutes to get out of bed, but they eventually make their way to the living room, sitting down on the couch. Patrick looks at Pete expectantly, a familiar expression urging him to cut to the chase. Pete often dawdles, taking his time as he gets wrapped up in his own mind to the point where Patrick, despite himself, sometimes has no choice but to intervene because he understands that the roundabout tendencies Pete's thoughts have aren't always healthy.

"It's really fucked up. Like, _really_ fucked up." He’s speaking slowly, but he sounds more awake. There's more emotion to his tone, which is reassuring. Disappointed or even pissed is better than the tired emptiness that laced his voice earlier that morning. Patrick nods, waiting for him to continue.

It takes a while for Pete to cut to the chase, and when he does, Patrick gets why: it turns out that Rachel, who had always seemed superficially nice, was not only cheating on Pete, but using his credit card for suspicious transactions that ultimately could be traced back to excessive booze runs and two definitive drug purchases. As if that wasn't bad enough, the police were made aware of these transactions before Pete was; it wasn’t until the time of Rachel’s arrest that Pete was notified of what had happened.

  
Actually, Pete clarifies, he wasn’t _notified_ per se; rather, he was detained for questioning. While he could could deny vehemently all of the withdrawals and purchases being his own, he didn't have a strong alibi. Okay, yes, he was at the party where the money that was withdrawn from his account was spent on cocaine, but he was there for publicity, he didn't buy the cocaine, he _definitely_ didn't do any of it, and _no_ , he didn't know that that's where his money was going. With a dry chuckle, Pete admits that he may have further incriminated himself by sounding like a complete douchebag as he explained to the detectives that he’s fairly wealthy and has enough cards and bank accounts that he doesn't always keep a close eye on them.

(And that he, you know, trusted his girlfriend, a glaring mistake on his part.)

Fortunately, while the police were able to charge Rachel using security camera footage of one of the drug runs, they couldn't indict Pete; his alibi, though weak, was consistent, supported by eyewitness accounts and voluntary submission to a drug test. So, exonerated from the crimes for which he was falsely implicated, Pete thought he could manage to fall back into his old routines without it being a big deal.

"When did all of this happen?" Patrick asks, sensing that this wasn't what kept Pete up all night.

"I don't know – like a month ago, maybe. Around a month, yeah."

"So why am I just now hearing about it? Were you planning on telling me?" He thinks back to the last few weeks of their tour, how it's true that Pete wasn't talking to Rachel on the phone anymore, that he seemed a bit down. Patrick ignores the feeling of guilt creeping in; he knew Pete was down, but only now does he realize that he should have addressed it sooner. Twenty-twenty hindsight, he supposes.

"Well, yeah," Pete replies. "Once I had a chance to process shit, but then, fuck–then I got the call from Dani's parents."

"I'm sorry – _why_?" Patrick's tone is sharp and incredulous.

Pete sighs loudly and goes into part two of the last month or so of his life: when his ex in-laws found out about all of this, through lawyers or tabloids or whatever news source it was that they were snooping through, they immediately filed for sole custody of Bronx and called Child Protective Services. Pete, all yesterday, was speaking with lawyers, trying to compose himself by watching shitty TV and, eventually, calling Patrick.

"I talked to my lawyer and I talked to management and they said that things might not be so bad if I 'clean up my act.'" His air quotes are paired with an eye roll and a scoff.

"Clean up your act?" Patrick asks. He's standing up now, all questions, still confused about how Pete landed himself in such a sticky situation. "Minus Rachel, your act has never really been, you know, dirty. I don't see what else they want you to do."

"I know, but think about it from an outsider’s perspective. Imagine what they must be thinking of a single dad who spends a significant portion of the year touring? And between Danielle and Rachel, my track record with relationships isn’t great. I have to prove that this is a ‘healthy environment’ for Bronx. ” He pauses. “Fucking _cocaine_ ,” he mutters.

“Fucking cocaine,” Patrick echoes.

A long moment passes in silence before Pete adds, “Matt said that a stable relationship could help me keep full custody.”

“And so what is Matt thinking? That you just hire a permanent girlfriend? Create an OKCupid account? ‘ _Thirty-four year old bass player desperately seeks wholesome make-believe girlfriend to provide stable environment for four-year-old son in order to ward off Child Protective Services'?_ Not that you should even have to fight off Child Services. I just–maybe you need a new lawyer. Was Matt high when he suggested this?”

“Patrick,” Pete says.

  
“No, I’m serious. This is ridiculous. I’ll call Child Services right now, give them a fucking character reference. Under oath, hand on the bible, Pete, so help me God – you’re such a good father to Bronx. They can’t possibly–"

  
“Patrick,” Pete repeats, a little louder this time. Patrick quiets down, realizing that his voice is raised, that he’s trying to drain himself of his own anger and what he can only imagine is a fraction of the frustration that Pete has kept pent-up in the past month or so. “Matt was thinking...well, fuck–I’m sure you can see where I’m heading with this. Right?” Patrick stares at Pete and though he has a vague sense of what’s about to come, he shakes his head anyway.

“Not really,” he says. Pete smiles meekly and it quickly transforms into something more devilish as Patrick comes to the full realization of what Pete is suggesting. He sits back down and says, “Oh, no, I don’t think that’s a very good idea.” Pete leaps up off of the couch.

“Think about it! You’re so responsible that no one is going to be able to take Bronx away. Taking Bronx away from Patrick Stump would be an _injustice_ . We could probably _sue_ if they tried. Besides,” Pete adds, “it wouldn’t be for real. We just move some of your stuff over here, make sure the paps get a few photos of us kissing and holding hands – fuck, the fans already believe we’re a thing. We would just be making it official.”

  
“Artificially official,” Patrick clarifies. Pete makes a hand gesture that suggests it’s the same difference. He looks convinced that this is the solution, but Patrick is already thinking about the media storm, the fan reactions, the fan _fictions_ , whether or not they’d be allowed to tell his parents the truth, or Joe and Andy, whether or not _Bronx_ would be able to find out, and if falsifying a relationship to create stability wouldn’t ultimately create something even more unstable.

“Are you saying no?” Pete suddenly looks dejected, sitting back down, running a hand through his hair and sighing loudly. Patrick doesn’t think it’s intended to be a look of pity, yet he feels overwhelmingly guilty, like if he says no and Bronx _does_ get sent to the in-laws that it’s going to be his fault.

The technicalities that need worked out before he can agree, though, are innumerable, so Patrick pats Pete on the back and says reluctantly, “Let me go home for a bit, talk to Matt, and think this over.”

: :

Matt, Pete’s lawyer, sounds enthused that Patrick is even willing to humor the idea, filling him in on some of the legal details that Pete grazed over. Patrick jots down notes in one of the battered notebooks that he usually reserves for grocery lists and quick melodies that pop into his head. He asks questions here and there but he’s mostly wrapped up in his own selfish concerns. A media frenzy over this new relationship (which would be inevitable, because when you’re a celebrity, anything is real provided it’s on the cover of a magazine) would mean coming out as bi. It’s no lie – he’s certainly not exclusively straight – but Patrick has always valued his privacy and he shudders at the headlines he’s picturing. Moreover, just a week or two ago, he was debating texting his ex, Alyssa, to see how she’s doing. Starting a fake relationship with Pete, Matt explains, means real monogamy, at least at first, since the media will be watching like hawks for slip-ups. Depending on how long they have to be _“_ together” – which, Matt says, would be a while, but no, not forever – Patrick would be throwing away a chance to move forward with his own life. Still, he reminds himself that Pete is his best friend, that he would do anything not to see Bronx sent away. He sighs.

“This wouldn’t be anything on paper, right? No marriage, nothing like that? Just dating?”

  
“Just dating,” Matt says. “Steady, committed relationship. You’ve got the clean reputation that Child Protective Services love. I’m told you and Pete already know virtually everything there is to know about each other and Pete says you’re good with Bronx – added bonus. When you’re on tour, Bronx comes with. When you’re back in Chicago, you stay at Pete’s.” Patrick thinks about how much time he already spends at Pete’s and realizes that maybe this won’t be so different than how things already are. “Make a bit of a show for the paps and for CPS, hand holding, a kiss now and again. I hear you act.”

Patrick laughs dryly and says, “Yeah, here and there.”

“So as long as you play the part, you know? I don’t think it’ll be hard. Just time consuming. Surprise visits aren’t outside the realm of possibility, so we have to be careful about that.” This really is some sort of convoluted role he’s going to be performing, Patrick thinks. “Are you in?” Matt asks when Patrick doesn’t say anything else.

Hesitantly, Patrick says, “Yeah, I guess I’m in.”

: :

Patrick goes over to Pete’s that evening with a suitcase with some of his clothes. He figures he’ll bring the essentials over in small trips. They live so close that nothing is urgent and when Pete opens the door, he takes one look at the suitcase and engulfs Patrick in a hug. “You’re the best,” he whispers, hugging him tighter.

Bronx is sitting at the dining room table eating dinner as Patrick comes in, waving eagerly. Patrick laughs and waves back and watches as Bronx cocks his head at the suitcase in curiosity. He doesn’t ask questions, though – just narrows his brows and goes on to eat another chicken nugget. It suddenly occurs to Patrick that this is something he and Pete will have to _explain_ to him, whether or not it’s the truth they tell. He looks at Pete and purses his lips. Pete shrugs and, heading with Patrick to his room, says, “We’ll figure it out.” Patrick sets his suitcase down next to Pete’s dresser and notices that Rachel’s stuff isn’t there anymore. He doesn’t say anything – he just asks Pete if there’s extra space in his dresser because he figures keeping his clothes in the suitcase would be a little suspicious.

He finishes unpacking and comes out to the kitchen, where Pete is making more chicken nuggets for him and Patrick. “Since you made breakfast, y’know,” he says. Patrick laughs but chicken nuggets don’t sound terrible.

: :

At first, Patrick splits his time between his place and Pete’s, knowing he’ll soon start staying at Pete’s full-time. His routine at Pete’s is surprisingly unchanged; Patrick works during the day, plays with Bronx in the evening, and after Pete gets Bronx set for bed and reads him a story, he and Patrick settle back down in the living room.

Admittedly, Patrick feels rigid at first, as though he had been expecting the dynamics to be completely different, for Pete to be all over him or for the opposite to be the case – for them to be suddenly distant. Instead, he sits on his laptop and talks to Pete about whatever’s on TV, and then about new music and touring, and eventually ironing out a few more details about this weird fake relationship. They agree on telling Bronx that Patrick will be over more often, kind of sort of how Rachel was – but as friends. They figure they’ll tell their immediate families the flat-out truth, and Joe and Andy, too, but beyond that, the world will think they’re dating.

Things feel so normal for so long after Patrick “moves in” with Pete that he starts to think that nothing else is going to happen, that Pete will quietly get custody, Patrick will go home, and everyone will live happily ever after.

  
Then the tweets start coming in.

It’s a lot of question marks and even more winky emoticons, the supposition that Peterick _might actually be a thing_. Patrick thinks back to the endless tweets he’s sent debunking the myth – it’ll never happen, nice try, I don’t read it, ha ha ha. He sees a lot of tweets telling him _I told you so!_ Patrick pictures himself blushing in interviews, passing off his fervent denial in the past as his own uncertainty. “I guess the fans knew we were a thing before we did,” he’ll say with a chuckle. Pete will make some comment about knowing all along, maybe lean in a little closer. Joe and Andy will roll their eyes, but there’ll be a twinkle of fondness underneath the gesture.

Patrick reads countless tweets before noticing that there are a lot of fans tweeting about how sweet Pete is, how adorable _that tweet_ was, how Patrick must be giddy. _Did he ask you out?_ they ask. _Is it official????_ Another fan tweets, _PETE IS TOO CUTE. THAT WAS TOO CUTE. EVEN IF YOU HATE MATH YOU MUST THINK THAT IS THE CUTEST THING ON EARTH._ Immediately, Patrick goes to Pete’s twitter, because that’s the only logical explanation.

Sure enough, Pete tweeted two hours ago, probably around the time that the two of them were watching _Jeopardy_. The tweet is so short, so utterly concise, that Patrick becomes suddenly concerned about how fans are going to react to more detail, like photos and video. The tweet is a whopping two characters: **_P_ ** **_2_ **

That the fans’ reactions are so on-point initially surprises Patrick, but he also understands that many of Pete’s tweets take bizarre Peterick turns. Not sure how to react – if this is the two of them “coming out” or just a tease of what’s to come – Patrick opts against tweeting or replying anyone. All he does is retweet it, figuring people will catch on soon enough. He very nearly texts Pete a screenshot with a message asking _Really??_ but he can already picture Pete’s reaction, some cheesy math analogy where Patrick is the X to his Y. He bites his lip and, back at his own place for the last time for a while, goes to shower and then pack up his shampoos and soaps and toiletries to bring over to Pete’s the following morning.

: :

The two of them rarely talk about this so-called relationship, so Patrick is taken aback when he and Pete go out to grab coffee while Bronx is at school early one afternoon and Pete, when the two of them are nearing an unpredictably large paparazzi storm, takes Patrick’s hand and pulls him in a little closer. The closer the two of them get to each other, the more the paparazzi steps into their personal bubble, fueled by the sudden PDA. They’re asking all sorts of questions about what this means and Pete, are you gay, and Patrick, are _you_ gay, and what about Bronx, and when is Fall Out Boy going to make a new CD and, hey, sign this album for my kid, yeah? They both duck their heads down and Pete squeezes Patrick’s hand a little, like it’s a secret message saying _I know_ and _I’m sorry_. He lets go of Patrick’s hand when they get to the door, opening it for him and letting him step inside. Patrick takes a long, deep breath, happy to have his personal bubble back. He’s never felt comfortable around the paparazzi, and Pete is keenly aware of this. Usually, he does a good job keeping Patrick away from them, though it’s clear that today turned into an opportunity of sorts, one that Pete knowingly took advantage of.

In the coffee shop, the customers’ eyes are on Pete and Patrick and the slew of paparazzi outside. There are a few kids in the store that look like they might be fans, scattered customers with their phones out who look like they don’t even know who they’re taking photos of – just that these people are presumably famous. A fleeting second passes before Patrick wraps an arm around Pete’s waist. The gesture, motivated by pure adrenaline and the knowledge that this needs to be convincing, causes more flashes to go off. They get in line and with one hand still around Pete, Patrick uses his other to pull out his phone. Head ducked, he starts hitting random buttons, trying to look casual in the meantime.

Pete seems like a fish out of water, surprisingly bewildered by the scene and perhaps the fact that Patrick is going along with it so naturally. Patrick finally loads the internet and starts quietly talking to Pete about those new shoes he’s been thinking about buying. “You think they’re too showy?” he asks once the page loads, moving the phone so that Pete has a better view. He’s speaking deliberately quiet so that no one around them can pick up on the conversation. His cheeks are on fire, but knowing the media and his fanbase, people will probably pass it off as timidness, that he’s uncomfortable with PDA, that he’s nervous to come out of the closet.

“Nah,” Pete suddenly says, bringing Patrick back to reality. “You can work them.” Pete is starting to lean into his touch, causing his grip to stiffen because he doesn’t know how to react. Thankfully they’re next in line, so Patrick puts his phone back and removes his arm from Pete’s waist so he can fish out his wallet.

They order their drinks and wait patiently for them to be prepared. When they’re done the two leave the store and the paparazzi doggedly follows. Neither of them does anything else too lovey-dovey, knowing better than to take things too far too quickly. Their relationship has to look genuine and convincing. They get into Pete’s car and Pete says, grinning, “You’re the best fake boyfriend.”

Patrick laughs loudly. “Thanks,” he says. “You too.”

: :

“Sweetie, you’re going to have to explain,” is how Patrick’s mom greets him when she calls that night. “Your dad showed me the tabloids and, well, a picture’s worth a thousand words, I suppose.”

Patrick is grateful for his parents because they don’t usually ask many questions. He doesn’t end up in the tabloids often, but even when he does, they always give him the benefit of the doubt. When he was arrested, his mom called the next morning and said, “They’re saying you were arrested, and then they _did_ post a mugshot, but I thought that maybe it was photoshopped.” Sometimes Patrick wonders who _they_ are – whether his parents rely on _Us Weekly_ for their scoops, _TMZ_ , or maybe Twitter. He does know that it’s usually his dad who finds the posts, casually commenting on the controversies, assuming them to be untrue. His mom is usually the one to call. There have been times where they’ve called over alleged scandals that even Patrick hadn’t heard of, so he does his best to alert his parents ahead of time to any big scoops he or the band are involved in; he called his parents crying immediately after Pete’s suicide attempt, or right after they made the decision to come off hiatus. The whole fake-relationship story was something he realized he would have to tell them, and probably should have informed them of sooner, but he admittedly put it off because he wasn’t sure how they would react.

His mom is understanding. She coos a lot and tells Patrick that he’s a very, very good friend to Pete. When she puts his dad on the line, he’s also understanding, but a little more honest, asking questions about Alyssa and the future. Patrick mentions the impermanence of the entire situation and his dad hums and asks what the fans will think about the inevitable “breakup.” It’s something Patrick hadn’t previously considered and, sitting on Pete’s couch, he starts anxiously drumming a beat on his lap with his free hand.

“I’m not sure what’ll happen with that.” The truth is that he isn’t sure what’s going to happen with any of this, but he tries not to let his uncertainty register as he speaks with his parents. As far as they’re concerned, he’s doing a good friend a casual favor, as if he were picking Pete up from the airport at two in the morning or loaning him a little bit of cash.

His parents, though understanding, still sound hesitant, as though Patrick were suddenly filling out the forms to adopt Bronx. Suddenly he regrets taking their call. It’s as though they’ve anchored in the pit of his stomach the first seeds of doubt that perhaps this was a mistake, an irreversible one. It hits him that no matter what ends up happening and when, he’s not the only one that’s going to be dealing with the fallout. Still, he glances over at Pete, who’s at the dining room table with Bronx, helping him with his homework, and he remembers why it is that he’s doing this. The preservation of Pete’s custodianship takes precedence over everything else, which is ultimately what he tells his parents.

“Oh, Patrick, we know that,” his mom says when his dad puts her back on the line. “You’re always looking out for Pete. We just want to make sure someone is looking out for you, too.” Patrick wants to laugh and assure her _What could possibly go wrong?_ but he also knows deep down that the answer is a shaky _everything._ He sends them his love and wraps up the conversation, promising to visit while he’s in town.

After he hangs up, Pete tells Bronx, “Hey, you keep working on this, okay? Color all those Rs.” He stands up and walks over to Patrick, asking him, “Do you want to finish helping Bronx out with his homework and then put him to bed? I didn’t think the photos were going to hit the press this soon and we still haven’t told Joe and Andy.”

“Shit, you’re right,” Patrick says, looking up to see if Bronx noticed him swearing.

Pete laughs at Patrick’s concern and says, sounding more serious, “If they’re not already wondering what’s up, they will be soon. I might go give them a call.”

  
“Sure, yeah,” Patrick tells him.

Pete pats him on the arm and thanks him as he heads to the back patio to make the phone calls. Patrick sits down next to Bronx, watching him do a color-by-letter activity in one of his preschool workbooks. He’s focused, so Patrick doesn’t interrupt until he finishes coloring in one section and then scans the page, pointing at a P and asking, “Is that an R?”

Patrick shakes his head tells him to try again, so Bronx continues scanning the page. He finds and points at an R and looks up with a questioning expression. Patrick nods and says, “Yep, very good.” Bronx smiles and starts coloring again.

It’s still a little weird because Patrick no longer understands the boundaries that stand between him and Bronx and whether they’ve changed – if he’s supposed to still be the cool uncle (“uncool uncle – sorry, ‘Trick,” Pete always insists, much to Patrick’s chagrin) or more of a parent figure. For the most part, he volunteers to do little things here and there, like making breakfast or playing with him, but tries to leave rituals like bedtime stories to Pete unless he’s asked to do otherwise.

Bronx finishes up the page in his workbook and asks if he can do another, looking disappointed when Patrick tells him that’s it for the night. He’s over it soon enough though, heading to the bathroom to brush his teeth and get his pajamas on. When they get to his room, he grabs from the bookshelf an old, tattered copy of _Where the Wild Things Are._ Patrick sits down in the rocking chair near the bed and Bronx climbs onto his lap. He states offhandedly and very matter-of-factly while Patrick opens up to the first page, “Kim at school has two daddies.” Patrick freezes and looks down at Bronx, who goes on to ask, “Are you and Daddy like Kim’s daddies?”

“Not exactly,” Patrick says after a long pause. He rereads the first sentence of the book in his head three times before he repeats more quietly, “Not exactly,” and goes on to read the first sentence out loud.

He indulges Bronx by reading him two books and gives him a hug before tucking him in. He tries not to give him a chance to ask more questions by telling him that Daddy will be in soon to tuck him in and goodnight and sweet dreams and see you in the morning. Bronx already sounds half asleep, telling Patrick _mmhmm_ and _nigh’_ before Patrick gently shuts the door and makes his way to the back patio to see how Pete’s conversations with Joe and Andy are going, not knowing how the two of them are going to take the news. He gets outside and Pete, who’s sitting on the patio stairs, turns around and makes a weird face at Patrick before telling whoever’s on the phone, “No, okay, yeah, he just came out here now. You can talk to him.” Patrick furrows his brows and Pete mouths _Joe_. Patrick nods, figuring that of the two other band members, Joe would be the one to have something to say about this.

Pete rolls his eyes and flips the phone off before handing it to Patrick, who laughs and tells him, “Hey, go say goodnight to Bronx, yeah?” Pete nods and heads inside. Finally, Patrick puts the receiver to his ear and asks hesitantly, “What’s up?”

  
“What the fuck is going on?” Joe asks, sounding confused and mildly angry. “Why didn’t you tell any of us about this? Why did you _agree_ to this?”

“Okay, hey, calm down,” Patrick says. He takes Pete’s place on the stairs and asks, “Hasn’t Pete already filled you in?”

  
“I mean, yeah, but do you realize the repercussions of this?”

“Joe, this wasn’t a rash decision. You know that. We put a lot of thought into it.” He pauses and adds, as though it’s supposed to help, “It was Pete’s _lawyer_ who suggested it.”

“Oh, Matt suggested it. Okay. That makes everything better.”  After a moment, when Patrick doesn’t say anything, he says, “Shit, Patrick. Look – Matt is the same person who told Pete not to go to rehab back in the day. I don’t think this is a good idea.”

Suddenly defensive, Patrick snaps, “Well, it’s too late now.” A minute goes by and neither of them says anything else. Finally, Patrick sighs. “Sorry,” he says. “That was – I didn’t see any other way out of this, and I couldn’t see Pete losing Bronx, y’know?”

“I just…,” Joe starts to say.

  
“You just what?” Patrick asks when he doesn’t continue.

“I just...Don’t you think Pete’s being maybe a little selfish?”

“I don’t know. Maybe a little, but fuck, wouldn’t you be in a situation like this?”

“I have no fucking idea. Probably, but I wouldn’t go and drag any of you guys into the whole mess. Think about it. You’re, like, fucking married to him now. The media is going to eat this up, and the fans too, and I just – do you really think things will be the same after this?”

“Not _exactly_ the same, but come on. It’s not like we went and got hitched.” Patrick runs a hand through his hair. He feels like he’s giving Joe the same sales pitch that Pete and Matt gave him. He tells Joe, “We’ll play this whole thing by ear. If it means Pete gets to keep Bronx, we can handle the fallout. That’s what PR is for.” Patrick can sense the hesitation in Joe’s lack of response. He’s suddenly desperate for the approval that even his parents seemed reluctant to give and he says, with an embarrassing hint of vulnerability in his tone, “I need you and Andy to be on board with this.”

 Joe says, “I’ll go along with it,” but he doesn’t sound happy about it. “Just promise you’ll be careful.”

“Dude, of course I will.”

“Don’t let this go to Pete’s head.”

Patrick frowns and says, “I don’t think it will.”

“Okay,” Joe says decisively. “Let’s see how this goes. I’ve got to run, but I’ll see you guys at rehearsal tomorrow.”  
  
The two of them say goodbye and even though Joe seems to be on board, Patrick still feels a sharp sting of betrayal when he hangs up. He wonders what Andy said on the matter, if Pete even had the time to call him while Patrick was with Bronx. He stands up and stretches before he goes back inside.

“What’d Joe say?” Pete asks. He’s lying with his legs resting on the back of the couch and his head on the seat, eating cherry garcia from the carton. A bit of it slides off the spoon and onto the floor. “Oops,” he says. He swings his legs off the back of the couch and sits upright again, smearing the ice cream into the carpet with his foot so that it isn’t as noticeable.

“Oh my god,” Patrick says. He walks to the kitchen and wets a paper towel to see if he can lift the ice cream from the carpet before it stains. “You’re ridiculous.”

  
“What’d Joe say?” Pete asks again, continuing to eat. As Patrick finishes getting the ice cream out of the carpet, Pete holds out the carton to offer him some.

  
Unable to resist, he grabs the carton and says, “Nothing really. Probably just whatever he told you. ‘You sure about this?’ and yadda yadda yadda.” He takes a bite of ice cream and hands the carton back to Pete before going to throw the paper towel away. “Told him not to worry. Did you talk to Andy?” Pete nods from the living room. “What’d he say?”

“Okay."

Patrick laughs. “Figures.” Andy is nonchalant about everything and now more than ever, Patrick is grateful for this. Not wanting to get into the gritty details of the phone calls he’s dealt with tonight, Patrick makes a show out of yawning loudly. “I think I’m gonna head to bed early tonight. Get some sleep before tomorrow’s secret show.”

“Loser,” Pete says. “Okay, though. I’ll probably head back in a little bit. Night.” He blows Patrick a kiss.

Patrick rolls his eyes but he pretends to catch it and tuck it in his pocket, patting the spot twice before telling Pete goodnight.

  
: :

During rehearsal the next day, the four of them perform with a sudden stiffness that they all seem to notice without ever verbally acknowledging. When they first arrived, Joe kept giving Patrick weird glances that seemed to say _be careful_ and _are you sure you know what you’re getting yourself into?_ and _fuck this shit_ all at once. It seemed he was surveying the situation, waiting for something to happen, as if Patrick and Pete were going to start making out on stage. Patrick can’t say he blames him, because when he first agreed to this whole ordeal, a part of him expected the same.

That night though, on stage, performing in front of an intimate crowd of 500 at a local Chicago venue, Pete does the predictability unpredictable: in a paradoxical turn of events, in the bridge of “Saturday,” Pete prances up to Patrick and kisses him hard before going to crowd surf. He does it as though it were nothing – Patrick remembers that, in theory, that’s how it’s supposed to perceived, so he kisses back instinctively and, trying to contain the sudden frustration and embarrassment that’s bubbling up inside him, he laughs and shakes his head at Pete as though he were the most endearing person alive. Pete beams back and the crowd cheers and flashes go off and Patrick almost forgets to keep playing.

They make it through "Saturday" and their encore and when they’re offstage once and for all, Patrick yanks out his IEMs, approaches Pete, and hisses, “What the _fuck_ was that?”

Pete looks at Patrick with wide eyes, taken aback, before his expression settles and he says calmly, “A kiss.”

“Fuck, okay, oh my god. Let me rephrase: Why the _fuck_ did you do that?”

“Jesus, ‘Trick. We were gonna have to do it eventually.”

  
“You could have done it with _tact_.” Patrick runs a hand through his hair. He still feels hot and sweaty from the concert and in the pit of his stomach he has this burning feeling that, if he weren’t so angry, could almost be mistaken for butterflies. “In front of the entire audience, without a whole lot of buildup, and I just - fuck, you could’ve at least asked me ahead of time.”

Pete furrows his brows. “Calm down, dude. It was a heat of the moment thing. I wasn’t planning on it ahead of time. I won’t do it again.”

  
Deep down, Patrick realizes that they’re both going to have to do it again if they’re going to make this whole relationship convincing. “Good,” Patrick says. He takes off his jacket and throws it down on a chair while he gets ready to shower. He accidentally makes eye contact with Joe on his way out of the room. He raises an eyebrow and it’s obvious that he’s trying hard not to pull a _told you so_ face. It’s clear Joe doesn’t _want_ to be right, but Patrick is understanding more and more that he very well may be.

: :

It’s an unsettling feeling that Patrick tries to wash off in the shower. He’s not sure what to call it – frankly, deep down, he’s not even sure what he’s mad at Pete for. This whole time, he’s understood that they’d have to kiss, and even that they would have to kiss publicly. Kissing in front of a wide audience wasn’t on the top of his agenda, but his privacy is something he was willing to surrender for Pete’s and Bronx’s sakes. And yet, now that it’s actually happened, Patrick is left with feelings of confusion and the residual taste of Pete’s latte on his lips.

It could be that Patrick is angry with himself, but he avoids admitting so. The honest truth is that the kiss felt like anything else he and Pete have ever done, as natural as Pete’s head on his shoulder during shows, or the way they inevitably cuddle whenever they share a bed. The fact that he kissed back should’ve been deliberate and conscious. It should’ve been a scripted line, and yet as he replays the scene in his head, the more it strikes him that he kissed back reflexively and unintentionally, without any consideration of the ploy they’re executing.

  
He bites his lip as he thinks about this and scrubs harder. Getting out of the shower he pushes aside his frustrations, though he remains adamant that at least _some_ of his anger toward Pete is justified. There’s no reason for him to keep Patrick uninformed; he should know exactly what is coming and when, if it’s a script that Pete and Matt insisted he was performing. There’s no reason for this to become messy and confusing.

  
He dries himself off and gets dressed in jeans and a comfy tee, already feeling a little better now that he’s out of his stage clothes. Still, when he gets back out to the dressing room and sees Pete again, his stomach knots. “Are you planning on greeting fans tonight?” he asks.  
  
“After I shower, yeah,” Pete says.

“I’ll go out now, then.” If the two of them show up together, the fans are going to go even wilder than if they went out individually. The Peterick questions are inevitable, but Patrick would rather deal with them on his own than with Pete right by his side.

Patrick can’t think of the last time he didn’t want to greet fans – maybe back a couple of years ago at the Detroit show when he was fighting off a death flu, and even then he stayed in mostly to avoid getting anyone sick. He still made a point to wave on his way out and apologize. The fans _awww’d_ and Patrick pouted and made a point to spend extra time visiting fans the next time they made their way to Michigan.

This time, Patrick wants to stay in for his own purely selfish motives. He doesn’t want to lie and pretend to be giddy about his boyfriend and the more he thinks about the show he’s going to have to put on outside, the more he begins to resent Pete. He still goes out though, because he insisted when he agreed to be Pete’s fake boyfriend that he wouldn’t let it get in the way of his relationship with their fans. This is their last show for a decent chunk of time. From here on, it’s going to mostly be time off followed by writing and recording. He has no excuse to flake off, even though he would love to.

He walks outside slowly, accompanied by one of their security guards. The air is cool and refreshing, which, for a fleeting moment, makes him feel more level-headed, Of course, it’s quickly interrupted by the screams of fans lined up near a metal gate, though his anger with Pete is forgotten as he’s taken over by adrenaline and the excitement he always feels getting to interact with fans. He thinks to himself, _fuck it_ , and goes to start signing autographs.

“Where’s Pete?” the first fan immediately asks.

He signs her CD and says, “Showering. If you guys hang tight I’m sure he’ll be out in a little bit.”

“You guys are adorable together,” the girl’s friend chimes in. “When did this happen?”  
  
“It’s been a ten-year process,” Patrick laughs. “It was just the right time, I suppose. Things finally sort of fell into place.”

Fans start asking about why Patrick waited so long to agree and prodding him about his sexuality. “Well, I’m bi,” he says, trying to be casual. “And anyway, we’ve both spent a lot of time doing our own thing outside of Fall Out Boy. I think we’ve both always been apprehensive about taking things further considering what could happen if it didn’t work out.”

“You guys were _meant_ for each other,” one fan pipes in. “It was bound to happen.”  
  
“Sure enough,” Patrick says, posing for a photo. He’s all smiles. His fans are thrilled for him and it’s hard to stay mad when they’re this excited.

“So,” one fan starts to ask, “why did you deny it for so long on Twitter and stuff?”

“I was denying Peterick!” Patrick says. “I still don’t think of us like that. I have nothing against fans taking creative liberty – I think it’s really great for you guys to be writing and stuff. But some of your guys’s imaginations – I just, wow! It’s very X rated. You guys like to send me the dirty stuff.”

Everyone laughs and Patrick smiles fondly. He feels a lot better and even when Pete comes out, he’s able to wave him over and throw a hand around his waist asking, “What do you think about Peterick?”

“OTP,” Pete says without hesitation.

Before either of them realize it, all eyes are on them and fans are chanting _“Kiss, kiss, kiss!”_ and this time it’s Patrick that goes for it, planting an effortless peck on Pete’s lips. He’s not big on PDA and his cheeks flush as the crowd of fans goes wild. Cameras flash and he hears all kinds of _ooohs_ and _ahhh_ s. Miraculously, they get a signal from their security guard to wrap things up. Patrick takes a couple more photos with fans, signs an autograph or two, and he’s recording a message to a fan when Pete tugs his hand a few times, a signal that they _need_ to get going, before starting to walk away.

  
“Anyway, happy birthday!” he exclaims to the camera before following after Pete. He waves as he leaves and grins at everyone. They’re still taking photos so as he catches up to Pete, Patrick leans a little into his side and says, “Okay, that wasn’t so bad. Sorry for flipping out earlier.”

“It’s okay. Sorry for kissing you.”  
  
It takes Patrick a minute to reply because, despite himself, he starts to stutter over the words _don’t be_. Quickly, he clears his throat and says, “It’s okay,” pulling away Pete and entering their ride. They get back to Pete’s place and he greets the sitter and feigns another loud, exaggerated yawn before excusing himself to bed.

: :

The next day, Patrick hops online and notices that photos and gifsets of him and Pete are plastered all over the internet. The most popular seems to be one of Pete grabbing his hand and pulling him away while he was wishing that fan a happy birthday. _#Peterick_ is trending on Twitter and it’s so much to take in that Patrick immediately closes his laptop, figuring he’ll do a Q &A that night after he’s had time to process things. Pete gets up an hour or two later and ruffles Patrick’s hair before going to make a pot of coffee, telling him, “I think we should take Bronx to the zoo today.”

“Sure,” Patrick says. It’s Sunday and the weather is pleasant and it sounds nice to get out of the house. They’re done with shows for a while – Pete was telling Patrick the other night that they should try to plan everything so that an album is out by May and they can do a summer tour June through August, while Bronx is out of school. Patrick had nodded and agreed, telling Pete to start working on lyrics. Pete had joked that he was going to write an entire album of Peterick love songs, and Patrick laughed and named their next hit single, "I Slept With a Cocaine Addict but at Least I'm Dating Patrick.” Still, Patrick wouldn’t put something like that past Pete and started to compose that night an array of silly lovey-dovey melodies in his battered notebook, next to his notes from his conversation with Matt.

They leave early for the zoo and the weather is crisp, but pleasant. Bronx is absolutely delighted to see all the different animals, curious and intrigued with boundless energy.  


“What’s that!?” he exclaims at one point, running up to the Great Cats display.

“A tiger,” Pete says. “It’s, like, a big, _big_ cat.”

Bronx splays his hands on the glass barrier and presses his face against it. “Why’s it so far away?” he asks, his voice muffled.

Chuckling, Pete pulls him back a little (while Patrick shudders at the thought of all the _germs_ Bronx is touching, trying to assure himself that maybe it’ll help him build immunity or something).  “It’s probably shy,” Patrick muses.

Bronx looks enthralled and his attention is only broken when Pete adds, “Look at his red fur. He kind of reminds me of Patrick.”

Bronx whips around and cackles. “ _No_ ,” he says. “He doesn’t look _anything_ like him!”

“No, I see it,” Pete insists. He turns to Patrick. “Maybe you’re the cat whisperer. See if you can get him to come over.”

Patrick cocks a brow. “Uh, no.”

“See,” Pete says, nudging Bronx, “Patrick’s shy too.”

“Come on, Patrick!” Bronx exclaims.

There’s no use fighting it - Pete and Bronx are _both_ staring at Patrick with big eyes in anticipation. He tries to make eye contact with the tiger as he says, “Mmm, roar? Here kitty kitty?” The tiger slowly wags its tail, nonplussed as it enjoys its time in the shade.

Bronx is undeterred by Patrick’s failed attempt to capture the tiger’s attention, mustering up the loudest roars he can manage with the hopes of getting it to approach them. He moves on soon enough, but he nearly loses it when, at the gift shop later on, Pete buys Patrick a stuffed tiger that he insists on naming _Catrick_. It’s disgustingly adorable - even Patrick can’t help but admit it - and Bronx lights up when Patrick lets him keep it.

: :

They get home from the zoo early in the evening and they’re starving, but when Patrick sees that Pete is about to make mac ‘n’ cheese for the third day in a row, he decides to go to the grocery store. After a couple weeks living with Pete and Bronx, these trips have become easier than ever and he has a mental cookbook of their favorites that he tends to rotate in the evenings for dinner. He figures one solid, healthy meal a day is better than none, and he secretly loves mac ‘n’ cheese enough to have it for lunch every day without complaints. The grocery store is a nice chance for him to get some alone time too, so he takes advantage of it, stocking up on every possible food they could want or need. He signs an autograph for the cashier before he leaves and it’s when he gets back to Pete that he almost wishes he’d stayed.

  
He barely has a chance to react before it feels like he’s swooping into action. He gets inside, arms full of groceries, and he nearly drops them all when the first thing he hears is Bronx sobbing and the first thing he sees is a young woman standing in the kitchen speaking to Pete, presumably somebody with Child Protective Services. Pete looks horrified and Patrick immediately blanches, going to the kitchen and setting down the bags of groceries, forgetting that he has more in his car. He’s torn between attending to Pete first or Bronx.

Ultimately, he heads over to Bronx, since Pete is distracted with the woman he’s talking to. He extends his hand and says, “Hey, hey, let’s head to your room, okay?” Bronx sniffles loudly and cries harder but nods and grabs Patrick’s hand. Patrick furrows his brows and then nods curtly at the woman. He gives Pete a quick peck on the lips and pats his chest once or twice, telling him, “Listen, I’ll be back out in a few.” He tells the woman, “Sorry to just barge in like this. Didn’t realize you were coming. Guess that’s why they call it a surprise visit.”

He doesn’t wait for a response before he quickly focuses his attention back to Bronx. They go back to his room and Patrick gently shuts the door, leaving it cracked open with the hopes that he might possibly overhear a portion of Pete’s conversation with the woman from CPS. He sits down in the chair near Bronx’s bed and Bronx climbs into his lap like they do in the evenings during storytime.

“I don’t want to leave,” he sobs.  
  
“Shh, shhhh,” Patrick tells him. “You’re not going anywhere.”

“But the lady said!” It’s unclear what, specifically, the lady said, but it doesn’t matter considering how badly it frightened Bronx either way.

“She’s just here to check up on things, to make sure everyone’s doing okay. And you’re okay, kiddo. We’re all doing just fine, right?”  
  
If the situation weren’t so tense, Patrick would be impressed at how Bronx manages to shrug, nod, and sniffle at the same time. “Yeah,” he finally says.

“Yeah. Exactly. She’s gonna take a look around, ask a few questions. And maybe she seems a little scary, but there’s no need to be afraid.”

Bronx is still crying, but it’s thankfully begun to subside. “I don’t wanna leave,” he repeats.

“Well that’s a very good thing, because you’re not going anywhere. Hey - while Daddy’s talking to the woman, how about we read a book or something?” Bronx doesn’t reply at first - he seems to be focusing on taking deep breaths - but after a moment he nods and climbs down from Patrick’s lap to grab a book from his shelf. Patrick grabs a tissue for him in the meantime and, once they’re settled back down, he’s hardly surprised to see that Bronx has once again chosen to read _Where the Wild Things Are_.

They get through the book and one other. As Bronx stops crying and his breathing returns to normal, the muffled voices from Pete and the CPS woman in the hallway become clearer, which catches his attention. Patrick gets up and shuts the door. By now, Bronx’s eyes are drooping - between the zoo and the shock of the surprise visit, he must be _exhausted_. Patrick suggests he take a nap and is still a bit surprised that Bronx doesn’t fight him on it, curling up under his cover and falling asleep by the time Patrick has finished a third and final book.

Patrick leaves Bronx to rest, returning to the dining room table where Pete and the CPS woman, who introduces herself as Mary, are seated. He sits down next to Pete and places a reassuring hand on his back, lips pursed as he listens to Mary’s questions. Although she asks a few general questions about Patrick’s presence, she seems generally uninterested in him, focusing her attention instead on Pete, his routines, his relationships, his mental health. Her questions are invasive and at times unseemly, but Pete holds himself together surprisingly well, answering her questions honestly and without contempt. After another 20 minutes or so of questions, she closes the folder she brought with her and breaks what had, until now, been a decisively unreadable poker face.

“I have to be honest with you,” she says with a sigh. Patrick and Pete both perk up. “This is a preliminary visit, where we attempt to discern the accuracy of the initial report we’ve received and try to determine what risk, if any, the child is in.” She pauses before continuing, “Of course, in order to be thorough, we may have one or two follow-up visits, maybe a one-on-one interview with Bronx, but from my initial observations, I’m frankly shocked that you even have a case file.”

Pete is staring at Mary wide-eyed, like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. “So this means I get to keep Bronx?”

“Well, notwithstanding any unusual findings in future visits, yes. I understand your relationship with Rachel was fraught, but there’s absolutely nothing in your file that indicates you’re putting your son at risk. You broke ties with her right away, your drug tests were clean, and Bronx has followed a consistent routine in the meantime.” She looks at Patrick and adds, “You calmed down Bronx impressively fast. I’m sorry for giving him a fright earlier.”

“It happens,” Patrick says, trying to sound pleasant despite how bitter he remains about that.

“We’ll have to run a background check on you as well, Patrick - again, a formality - but to reiterate, I’m cautiously optimistic. This seems like a healthy environment for Bronx.”

And it’s that easy. Patrick and Pete take turns asking Mary questions for a while longer, but she remains insistent that the initial report was blown out of proportion - a common occurrence, but one that still requires thorough investigation. She leaves unceremoniously and while Patrick attaches her business card to the fridge, Pete remains seated at the dining room table for a few minutes, head in his hands. Patrick sits across from him but doesn’t press. Eventually, Pete says, with a dry laugh, “Holy shit. It was that easy.” And then, a moment later, “Let’s make dinner?”  
  
Happily, Patrick obliges.

: :

It doesn’t _really_ hit Pete until the middle of the night.

Someone is shaking Patrick’s shoulder, is all he can figure. They are doing it very, very gently, and Patrick rolls onto his side from his stomach and mumbles something unclear that he hopes whoever is shaking him will interpret as _stop_. The person doesn’t and as Patrick shifts from asleep to half-asleep, he realizes it’s Pete. He just barely opens his eyes and the room is pitch black, which is how he knows it must be the middle of the night. Pete is laying next to Patrick, looking wide awake.

“We did it,” he says eagerly. “We _did_ it.”

Groggier than eager, Patrick nods a little and wraps an arm around Pete before pulling him in, giving him a light kiss, and saying, “Mhmmm. Now go to sleep.” He buries his head in Pete’s chest and is asleep before he has time to consider what he just did.

: :

As soon as he wakes up and shakes off the post-sleep stupor, it sinks into Patrick that he gave Pete a pure unconscious and domestic kiss last night following the Child Protective Services clearing that was supposed to serve as the cessation of this whole make-believe romance.

  
“Maybe I dreamt it,” he mutters to himself as he throws on a pair of pants. “Definitely dreamt it.” Pete’s in the shower and Patrick wonders if he even remembers.

He almost swears out loud when Pete steps out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist and a toothbrush in his mouth and says, “Hey. You kissed me last night.”

Patrick sputters momentarily and tries to think of a response. He glances out the bedroom door and sees his car keys and a brown paper bag on the kitchen counter. “I left the rest of the groceries in the car,” he blurts. Shaking his head at himself, he promptly turns around and walks away, already trying to burn from his memory the image of Pete’s towel very barely tied around his waist.

  
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Patrick says as he gets to the car. He opens the trunk and grabs the rest of the groceries that he’d forgotten to bring in after getting distracted by CPS. “ _Fuck_.” He grabs the bags and shuts the trunk door, scurrying into the kitchen and haphazardly putting away the non-perishables. He tosses a carton of eggs, a gallon of milk, and a few frozen foods. “Oh, _fuck_ ,” he repeats under his breath. He accidentally slams the cabinet door after putting the cereal away as Pete walks in.

Now Pete’s got pants on, but still no shirt, and Patrick wants to ask if this is supposed to be some weird tease or if Pete has suddenly taken to walking around the house half-naked. Maybe all of his shirts are dirty or – oh, fuck, that’s never stopped Pete from wearing them in the past. “God dammit,” Patrick says when he sees that even the cheese he bought was left in the trunk. Such a waste. He makes a point of staring at the garbage bin and not Pete as he throws it away, and as he empties the last bag of groceries, he stares at it as though it were the most interesting thing in the world with the hopes that Pete will get the hint and disappear, or at least get dressed.

“Are we gonna talk about it?” he asks instead. _Fuck_.

“No,” Patrick says. He takes his time folding up the paper bag very, very carefully before placing it in the recycling bin. “There’s nothing to talk about. It was an accident.”

“How could you possibly kiss someone by acciden–”

“I don’t know. I just did.”

  
“If it was an accident, then why are your cheeks getting all pink?”

“Okay, it wasn’t an accident. It was just...habit. I was half asleep, and I’m blushing because it’s a little embarrassing now that Child Services has left.”  
“You know, I thought it was pretty cute,” Pete says. He sounds undeniably chipper about the whole thing, which is starting to weird Patrick out. He finishes putting away the last of the groceries and hesitates before replying.

In the end, he says in a sheepish attempt at changing the subject, “You’re going to be late getting Bronx to school.” Pete doesn’t say anything else, but he walks to the bedroom and returns a moment later wearing, finally, a shirt.

He frowns, looks at his phone, and grabs his car keys. “Coming with?” he asks.  
  
“Ahm, I should probably shower.”

“Oh. Yeah. Okay, well–I’ll be back in a bit.” He heads out and as the front door shuts, all Patrick can do is groan.

: :

Patrick spends the day trying hard to avoid Pete without making it obvious, showering and then running meaningless errands and then working on new music, which Pete knows requires privacy and silence. Around dinner time, it becomes more difficult to avoid him because eating together – Patrick, Pete, and Bronx – has become one ritual that they all look forward to, and even as Patrick grapples with Pete's comments, his grumbling stomach and desire to see Bronx push him to abandon his laptop and make dinner.

In his efforts to kill as much time away from home as possible, Patrick returns to the store and picks up with frustration all of the perishables he had forgotten in his car overnight. He's grateful that he did so as he rummages through the cabinets and fridge and realizes he has all the ingredients for some mean lasagna.

While he cooks, Pete stays in the living room with Bronx watching cartoons and things almost begin to feel celebratory. The tension from that morning starts to melt away as the smell of pasta takes over. Patrick feels looser and less stressed knowing that whatever happens, the biggest hurdle is over. The sight of Pete and Bronx side-by-side giggling over SpongeBob has Patrick feeling oddly nostalgic for the certainty brought by the prior uncertainty of the future: not knowing when CPS were going to come made the situation indefinite, and now that Pete has been awarded custody, the only question that remains regards when Patrick is going to leave. Patrick wonders if he'll have to be the one to bring it up, and as he calls Pete to the kitchen to set the table, he wonders briefly if either of them will have the guts to do it.

"Thanks," Patrick tells Pete as he hands him a stack of plates and silverware.

"Anytime," Pete replies, lightly pecking Patrick on the lips. Immediately, Patrick falters, expecting Pete to react with the same red cheeks and sputtering that Patrick had when he made the same mistake. Pete, like the night of the concert, treats it like it's nothing, walking to set the table with a spring in his step that feels taunting.

"Pete – what the fuck?" Patrick quietly hisses, quickly following him to the dining room table.

"I'm not sure what you're talking about." He's setting the silverware out but carefully stops and makes eye contact with Patrick as he innocently asks, "Care to elaborate?"

Patrick is surprised the question isn't accompanied by a batting of eyelashes and he can only roll his eyes. He says, “What was that? Kissing me? In front of _Bronx_ ? And after yesterday? What the _fuck_?”

“Patrick, calm down. Deep breaths.” Pete takes a step closer and points at Patrick. He says calmly, “You kissed me first and freaked out about it. I was trying to make you feel better by showing you it wasn’t a big deal – that you shouldn’t panic or turn all red or whatever, kind of like you’re doing now.” He pointedly raises an eyebrow and Patrick can physically feel his cheeks turning hot. “It’s a _kiss_. I’m not, like, proposing.”

Aggravated, Patrick starts to walk away, but quickly backtracks, getting closer to Pete and talking in a hushed tone so Bronx can’t hear. “That’s the whole issue with all of this. This whole ‘dating’ thing was never supposed to bleed into our daily lives. CPS is gone now, if you haven’t noticed. That’s why I was doing this, so we can stop with the make believe and the hand holding and the kissing and–”  
  
“That’s why you’re so mad,” Pete interrupts. He grins. “You’re not mad because I’m kissing you. Jesus, Patrick – you’re mad because _you_ kissed _me_ because you _wanted_ to.”

“It was _habit_. An accident.”

“You never do anything on accident. And you overthink everything. Your subconscience is talking to you.”

“Pete, I–”

“The water is boiling over.”

Patrick hears the sizzling of boiling water hitting the stovetop before he even turns around. He mutters _fuck_ under his breath and starts to walk away. Pete grabs his arm before he can, kisses Patrick again – this time on the cheek – and says with a straight face, “You gotta save the pasta before you save this relationship.” He pats Patrick on the arm and heads toward the living room, singing along to the SpongeBob theme song, much to Bronx’s chagrin.

“Daddy, _stop_.” Patrick listens to their conversation and frivolously stirs the pasta, trying to ignore the anxious feeling settling in his stomach.

: :

That night, Patrick stays back at his own apartment for the first time in weeks. He sits on his couch feeling nervous and restless as he channel surfs and sips a beer. He finishes his drink quickly and goes to the kitchen, grabbing a second beer, popping the cap off, and taking it out to his front porch. He doesn’t know whether it’s the light buzz that makes him call his mom or the fact that he _knows_ he’s fucked, but he’s swept with relief regardless when she picks up after the fourth ring.

“Hey,” he says. He lets the word hang there for a moment.

It’s met by silence at first, until his mom hums a long, knowing _mmmmmmm_ , sighs, and says “Oh, Patrick.”

“I _know_ ,” he replies. It’s clear his mom doesn’t need any context to know what the problem is, but he starts on a long-winded summary of the last few days and how “I _kissed_ him” and how “he kissed _me_ – just for the hell of it. To prove some weird point about how I’m apparently madly in love with him and I really don’t get it. I don’t get him, or how I ended up in this situation to begin with, and––Mom, please, please, keep your ‘I told you so’s to yourself.”

His mom sighs a deep sigh and says, “Baby, regardless of what you’re feeling toward Pete right now, I get the impression that he’s developing feelings for you. No matter what happens from here on out, you’ve ventured into a new territory, you know? The two of you are never going to be ‘just friends’ anymore.”

“Sometimes I wonder if we were ever ‘just friends’ to begin with.” This time his mom laughs. Every laugh and sigh and Mom Speech she gives is laden with a sense of foresight, like she has known this all along.

“Kiddo, I think that ship sailed years ago.”

“I just feel like we’ve gone overboard.” Before his mom has a chance to continue the ship metaphor, reminding Patrick that he and Pete are either going to sink or swim, he announces, “I should probably get going. I just wanted to touch base real quick.”

“Okay...Just remember to be careful before you go and write this whole thing off forever. Pete’s a good guy.”

“ _Mom_. Not helpful.”

“Okay, okay. I love you. We’ll talk soon!” Patrick laughs and says goodbye, hanging up and finishing his beer. He goes back inside and sits on the couch and decides to rent an action movie On Demand with the hopes that it’ll distract him from these weird feelings.

But the movie ends and Patrick feels just as restless as when it started. He goes to his bedroom and lays down, plugging his phone in to charge and setting it on his nightstand. He feels disconnected from Pete. Usually, he’s on-call for those moments that Pete calls him late at night, but he gets the feeling that Pete knows better than to reach out to him tonight. His queen size bed feels empty and the house feels too quiet without Hemingway’s paws padding across the halls and Bronx’s noise machine from down the hall. Patrick tosses and turns for an hour or so, replaying his conversation with Pete and his conversation with his mom in his head.

It’s getting late, and Patrick knows Pete’s still awake. He also knows there’s a very long conversation ahead of them - so, like, what _are_ we? - but he hopes it can be saved for another day as he climbs out of bed, throws a jacket on over his PJs, and makes the drive over to Pete’s.

He still has a house key, so he quietly lets himself in and heads to the bedroom, where Pete is laying down, typing something out on his phone. Maybe lyrics. ( _God_ , Patrick thinks a moment later, _hopefully nothing too angsty_.) He locks his phone, glances up at Patrick and says, sounding a bit sleepy, “Thought maybe we were over.”

“I don’t know what we are,” Patrick says, “but I know that I’m tired and I couldn’t sleep at my place. So if you could move over and stop hogging the entire bed, I would be very grateful.”

  
Pete moves over a bit and Patrick takes his jacket off before crawling under the covers. He cuddles into Pete’s side and says, “Thanks.”

Pete says, with rehearsed nonchalance, “Listen, Patrick. I wanted to apologize. All of this for a one-off visit and I just...I keep wondering. Like. Do you think this whole fake relationship was even necessary? Or was this whole thing just blown wildly out of proportion? I feel like I dragged you into this unnecessarily. I feel awful.”

  
“You didn’t know how seriously they were going to take Dani's parents’ report, Pete. Neither of us did.” He adds, after a moment, “For what it’s worth, I don’t regret it.”

Pete shuffles under the blankets and says, wrapping an arm around Patrick’s side, “Me either.”

The question is lingering in Patrick’s mind and surely Pete’s, too - _So where does this leave us_? But it’s a question for another day. Patrick leans into Pete’s touch, embracing, at least for one night, the confusion. Pete kisses Patrick on the forehead and says, “Thanks for being the best fake boyfriend.”

Patrick laughs but kisses him back and says, “Anytime.”

  


**Author's Note:**

> A LITTLE MESSY AND CONFUSING. The perfect place to end things, right? In the yet-to-be-written sequel I like to think that they keep cohabiting - their routine becomes increasingly domestic and their relationship increasingly sexual, and everyone recognizes how real their fake relationship is but them. Of course, they eventually do realize, but it becomes a running joke; they go on loads of fake-dates and buy fake-romantic presents for each other, and one day Pete fake-proposes and Patrick fake-accepts, and they (real-)marry and Joe’s like, “Ugh, knew it,” and Andy’s like, “Okay.” And they all live happily-ever-after because that’s just, like, how it works.


End file.
